


Queen Bee

by Chocolatpen



Series: Sendai Shooting [3]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Bullying, Consent Issues, Date Rape Drug/Roofies, F/M, Gang Rape, Hazing, Horny Teenagers, House Party, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Mean Girls References, Multi, Objectification, Oikawa Tooru is Problematic, Past Character Death, Promiscuity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:14:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25016044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chocolatpen/pseuds/Chocolatpen
Summary: Oikawa Tooru: freshman, possible future criminal mastermind and virgin extraordinaire.The lines between friend, foe and lover become increasingly blurred as Oikawa's pretty face and ambitious nature lead him down a rocky road.((This is a standalone prequel toTouchdown))
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou, Bokuto Koutarou/Oikawa Tooru, Bokuto Koutarou/Shirofuku Yukie, Hanamaki Takahiro & Matsukawa Issei, Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru, Kozume Kenma & Kuroo Tetsurou, Kuroo Tetsurou/Oikawa Tooru, Oikawa Tooru & Sugawara Koushi, Sawamura Daichi/Sugawara Koushi
Series: Sendai Shooting [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1764994
Comments: 71
Kudos: 232





	1. Big yellow school bus

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone!! Welcome back to my regular readers :)
> 
>  **This is a standalone prequel to[Touchdown](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23785735/chapters/57138400) ** which means that there will **not** be spoilers for Touchdown in this story. No promises for the comment section, though ^^
> 
> This starts 3 years before the shooting, and explores Oikawa's backstory. You can read this without having read Touchdown, but there will be a few references/some foreshadowing :)
> 
> Please be wary of the warnings: everyone is very underage, there is explicit rape/non-con in one of the chapters, as well as mentions of suicide. This is fucked up. I know the tags are scary so make sure to look after yourself and stop if you feel like you might get triggered.
> 
> I do not have a beta reader, but I do try my best to edit my work so I hope there won't be too many mistakes.
> 
> We're back in business babyyyy :D I wasn't actually planning on releasing this so quickly, but July is such an Oikawa month that I just had to HAHA
> 
> Updates will be every 4-7 days :) I hope you guys enjoy! Please do leave some kudos/comments if you do <3

Puberty doesn’t hit Oikawa Tooru like a big yellow school bus so much as it lifts him up towards the heavens on a bed of fluffy white clouds.

This becomes particularly evident the summer before Oikawa’s freshman year in high school. His legs grow long and strong, skin smooth and tanned from lazy days at the beach. His hair has always been manageable, but now he’s on the way to perfecting it in an artful tussle. He loses most of the baby fat that once clung to his otherwise slim build, features turning from cute to just plain attractive. Any pesky break-outs are dealt with swiftly by the expensive foreign skincare that his parents get shipped in, and he quickly learns his way around concealer and tea tree oil.

Another, more pressing concern that arises along with puberty is the one between Oikawa’s legs. He’s never really felt the need much, before, and he’s never gone past first base with his numerous short-lived romantic partners, but now he wakes up either hard as a rock or with sopping pants. It’s really a problem.

So naturally, Oikawa’s next concern is who he’s going to trust with his first time.

“Ugh,” Oikawa sighs, drawing out the groan as he sprawls out on the cool metal of the bleachers. Then, he softens his voice into a hiss. “I can’t believe I’m sexually frustrated! Me! The great Oikawa Tooru!”

A gentle chuckle emerges from the other side of Oikawa’s folded legs, so he spreads his knees to glare petulantly at the source of mirth.

  
Sugawara Koushi stares back at him, unbothered, from between the V of Oikawa's thighs. The autumnal sunrays lighten his grey hair into a soft, shimmering silver. It almost looks like a halo, the way it frames his alabaster skin and big brown eyes. A single beauty mark mars his otherwise flawless skin, and Oikawa likes to think of it as the physical manifestation of Sugawara’s mischievous streak.

Oikawa isn’t the only one puberty has been kind to.

Sugawara has blossomed into something Oikawa might even feel threatened by, but their beauty is hard to compare. If Oikawa were a sapphire, polished and iridescent, then Sugawara, in his mellow natural purity, is a pearl.

“Suga-chan, aren’t you curious at all?” Oikawa questions, glare morphing into a pout.

Sugawara is sitting cross-legged on the metal bench, and he shakes his knees as he thinks about it. “Well yeah, I am, but I don’t wanna do it with just anyone, you know?”

“Mr. refreshing is actually Mr. romantic, who would’ve thought?” Oikawa laughs, springing up into a sitting position. Like this, they look like mirror images of each other. Oikawa wriggles his eyebrows. “Or is it that you already have someone in mind?”

Sugawara blushes, pale cheeks flushing faintly. If the lack of an answer isn’t enough to confirm Oikawa’s claim, then the way Sugawara’s gaze flickers over to the field makes his feelings more than obvious.

With the number of sports clubs using the big expanse of multi-coloured grass, there’s more than enough eye candy that Sugawara could be ogling. Unfortunately, Oikawa has the privilege of calling himself Sugawara’s best friend and thus, already knows more than well enough who he’s looking at.

The football team takes up most of the space in the middle of the field. Sugawara’s beau is standing in line, yelling something as his friend with the black-and-white streaked hair gets in position against a football sled.

Sawamura Daichi. Dark hair, tanned skin, and thighs thick like Oikawa has never seen before. He’s the responsible type, not too fanatic about sports or school yet he does decently in both.

Oikawa can see why Sugawara might like Sawamura, since he does seem like an all-around good guy. They match, somewhat. Oikawa gets it. But there’s also the fact that-

“He’s so boring, Suga!” Oikawa cries.

There are so many people in high school, so many more than in middle school, and yet Sugawara has to settle for the one who has literally nothing else going for him?

“Who’s boring?” A new voice interjects, before Sugawara can retort, and the two boys look up to a grinning Shirofuku Yukie. She has her hands on her hips, red hair tied up in a tight ponytail and sweat dripping down the sides of her face. As always, her mouth is curved lazily. She’s holding a packet of chips, the bright orange of the packaging clashing with the brilliant blue of her cheerleader uniform.

“Yukie!” Oikawa greets, watching Sugawara scoot over so that Shirofuku can join them on the bench. They’re all acquainted from middle school, but they’re not really _friends_. Shirofuku has always been kind of two-faced. “We were just talking about Sawamura Daichi.”

“Meh.” Shirofuku shrugs, rummaging around her bag for another handful of chips. She offers some to Oikawa and Sugawara, both of whom shake their heads politely. “Hottest freshman football player is Bokuto Koutarou, by far.”

All three of them swivel around to watch the aforementioned boy pushing a football sled across the field. He’s faster, stronger, than some of the sophomores and juniors, and his sweat-slick muscles bunch attractively under the mid-afternoon sun.

“Yeah, but he’s obsessed with football,” Oikawa says, even as he notes the size of Bokuto’s biceps. _Goddamn_. “There’s probably nothing else in there.”

Down on the field, Bokuto lets out a piercing shout as he passes the finishing line, his voice somehow reaching them even up in the bleachers. Oikawa squints. “That’s way too loud.”

“To each their own, I guess,” Shirofuku nods her assent. She shoves some chips into his mouth, chewing noisily as a thoughtful look settles on her flushed features.

“What about Iwaizumi Hajime?” Sugawara suggests, resting his chin on his hand contemplatively. “He’s more mellow than Bokuto, but not as boring as Daichi.”

“Wow, you’re on first-name basis already?” Oikawa immediately teases, side-eyeing his best friend with a knowing smirk. Shirofuku chews louder, eyes widening, and in the moment she bears a striking resemblance to a squirrel.

“Shut up, Oikawa,” Sugawara rolls his eyes, but his mouth is twitching up into a smile.

Oikawa just laughs, turning his attention back to the field. Iwaizumi is standing next to Bokuto, now, and they’re talking about something. While Bokuto’s oddly coloured hair is slicked back so that it doesn’t droop into his eyes during training, Iwaizumi’s dark hair is cut no-nonsense short and sticks up from his head in spikes. His arms are impressive too, thick where they are crossed over his chest, but his face seems to always be screwed up into something unpleasant.

“He looks like a brute,” Oikawa concludes, waving his hand dismissively. He likes the strong silent type as much as the next person, but Iwaizumi seems more aggressive and brash than he’d like. “Not my type.”

“You’re actually so picky, Oikawa,” Shirofuku laughs, girlish and just a little bit mocking. “If I didn’t know better, I’d peg you as a virgin.”

Now it’s Oikawa’s turn to flush, and he feels the heat rise to his cheeks in horror. He is a virgin, not that anyone other than Sugawara knows, and he’s been trying to fix that! It’s not Oikawa’s fault that he has standards.

“No way…” Oikawa clears his throat, making a face in the hopes that it’ll throw Shirofuku off his scent.

It's well known that Sugawara isn’t interested in anything casual, but Oikawa is different. He dates around, and has a bad habit of flirting and leading people on. People have never thought of Oikawa as inexperienced, which is why he really just wants to lose his virginity as quickly as possible. It’ll satisfy his curiosity, at the very least, and then Oikawa will know what people are talking about instead of just pretending like he’s already done the deed.

“Yeah, right?” Shirofuku’s laugh fades into giggles, and then she sighs dreamily as her gaze gets caught on something in the distance. “What I’d do to be in the middle of a Miya sandwich.”

The hockey team is running laps around the field today, before they head to the nearby rink, and the Miya twins are predictably jogging in tandem; limbs synced up eerily well. Miya Osamu, the older one, has his hair dyed in an ash grey to the younger Miya Atsumu’s mustard blonde. Their hair colour is the only thing that reliably separates them, which is helpful because it took Oikawa a full year to learn to tell them apart in middle school.

“You’re still going on about that?” Oikawa snickers. Shirofuku can dream all she wants, but the Miya twins are disgustingly competitive with each other. The last thing they’d ever do is share. There’s no chance in hell that it’s going to happen.

Oikawa can see the appeal, though. Osamu and Atsumu are attractive enough on their own, it’s an actual double whammy with both in the picture.

“Whatever,” Shirofuku snorts, licking her fingers free of crumbs. “And then there’s Kuroo Tetsurou, of course, but I’m sure you’ve already had a taste of that hot mess.”

All three of them sigh at the same time.

Kuroo is running too, nudging past Osamu and Atsumu with a cheeky smirk. The twins exchange an annoyed look before picking up the pace too. The three of them are good friends. They’ve been playing together on the same hockey team for almost a decade, now, and have grown together from toddlers on ice to a triple threat that makes a spot on the varsity team just a matter of time.

Kuroo is tall and handsome. He’s probably one of the most attractive boys in freshman year, too, only Oikawa could very possibly catch a disease from having sex with him. Not that he wants to – Kuroo is still a friend, even if they drifted apart after what happened in middle school.

“It’s such a shame,” Sugawara says, eyebrows knitting together in a frown. He shakes his head, like he’s shedding memories he doesn’t want to remember, and Oikawa finds himself empathizing.

  
Kuroo was never really the same, after. He seems to have picked himself up a little more in recent times, but he’s certainly changed. Maybe fucking around so much actually does help.

“Yukie,” an unfamiliar voice calls, dragging out the name unnecessarily. “Your captain’s looking for you.”

Oikawa’s gaze swivels away from the field, and he’s blinded temporarily from the glare of the sun before he’s able to focus on the pair of seniors standing on the steps. Oikawa knows who they are, of course, because the pair are rather famous within the small community surrounding Sendai High.

The taller one, with the beefy arms, earrings and dyed-blonde undercut, is Mori Yukio. As captain of the football team, he’s a spartan trainer who runs a tight ship, but he devolves into Sendai High’s resident bad boy off the field. His vice-captain, Fujiwara Sho, stands next to him just a few inches shorter. This one is all pompous, self-assured smirk and shiny, jet-black coiffed hair. Oikawa has heard rumours that his family owns a super yacht.

“Mori-san, Fujiwara-san!” Shirofuku greets, pulling her fingers out of her mouth with a pop. Mori’s eyes linger over her mouth in a way that makes Oikawa’s stomach turn, but Shirofuku doesn’t seem to mind as she burrows her way underneath the senior’s thick arm.

“You shouldn’t run off in the middle of practice like that,” Mori continues chiding, hand slipping low on Shirofuku’s waist as he leads her down the steps, towards a gathering of girls in bright blue.

Fujiwara smiles, a little too toothily, at Sugawara and Oikawa, before following after them with his hands in his pockets. Although the two boys smile back politely, since Fujiwara Sho is not someone they want to make enemies with, the pleasant expressions slip off their faces as the football player turns away.

“I hope Shirofuku isn’t hoping for a relationship with that asshole,” Sugawara says, after a long pause, and Oikawa finds himself nodding in agreement. The two seniors give Oikawa a bad feeling, and he’s not foolish enough to mess around with them.

The brunette sighs, brushing the thoughts out of his mind and looking back towards the field. Oikawa has his virginity to lose and old friendships to rekindle. That’s more than enough to worry about as it is.


	2. Half a virgin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey!! I'm sorry I'm a little late, I had the worst writer's block bc I'm still stressing over the plot for Irezumi and also life.... I rewrote this chapter like three times too, but now I'm quite satisfied with how it turned out!
> 
> The chapter titles don't really have anything to do with content, really. I just ripped them off Mean Girls because I love that movie.
> 
> **Always keep the warnings/tags in mind!!** If you clicked on this story I assume that you've read them and are okay with reading that kind of stuff. If you feel like you can't handle it please just stop reading. Take care of yourself, always.
> 
> Okay, now that that's out of the way - this is fucked up, guys. Legit. No kidding. Enjoy <3

An otherwise uneventful weekend turns into something more when Oikawa, bored and lazing on his California king, picks up his phone and sends off two very deliberate messages.

The reply comes quickly, which is not unexpected at all, and Oikawa grins, shark-like, at his phone before tossing it onto his pillow. He makes his way downstairs, heart thrumming against the back of his ribs as he waits up against the front door of his house.

Oikawa first hears the sound of thin wheels on asphalt, before he sees Kuroo Tetsurou barrelling down the road on a bicycle. He’s bundled up against the oncoming chill of winter, decked out in his favourite red bomber and pair of worn Jordan’s. The wind whips his messy black hair away from his face, exposing a rare sliver of forehead above narrowed brown eyes.

Kuroo comes to a squealing stop right outside the tall, wrought iron gates at the front of the Oikawa family home, and all but flings his bicycle aside to storm up to the house.

It’s almost funny how Oikawa can see the exact moment Kuroo spots him. His gaze trails over Oikawa’s very unharmed body and take in the way Oikawa has schooled himself into a relaxed slouch. Kuroo’s shoulders deflate, then rise right back up to his ears as relief turns into incredulity, into annoyance and anger.

“Oikawa…” Kuroo starts, looking like he’s torn between pedalling away as fast as he can, and punching Oikawa in the face. He rummages through his pockets for his phone and shoves the screen in his face. “What the fuck is this?”

[15:10] Oikawa: I’m done

[15:10] Oikawa: there’s no point living anymore

[15:12] Kuroo: don’t do anything dumb

“What am I supposed to do? You don’t talk to me anymore.” Oikawa shrugs, unbothered, even though he knows he’s essentially blackmailing Kuroo into this.

It might be a bad idea to prod Kuroo’s sore spots, but it’s far from the worst idea Oikawa has ever had. Anyway, it’s proven extremely effective so far, because Kuroo’s standing in Oikawa’ front porch right now- and at record speed, too.

“I don’t know, reach out like a normal person?” Kuroo gnashes his teeth together, making to turn back around.

_Eek! there it is_ , Oikawa thinks. Kuroo might believe that he’s the provocation master, and he is sharp and cutting when he needs to be, but Kuroo is also soft for his friends. He’d never do anything to hurt them, not after what happened with Kenma, and Oikawa is very aware of this.

“Wait, wait, don’t leave!” Oikawa catches the other boy by the shoulder. Kuroo sends a glare his way, which Oikawa replies with his own easy grin. “I really do need your help! It’s why I texted you in the first place, setting aside my desire to rekindle our old friendship, of course.”

Middle-school Kuroo would’ve left with a snide comment and no regrets. High-school Kuroo rolls his eyes, but he still allows Oikawa to usher him into the house without complaint.

“So, what is it?” Kuroo asks, raising an eyebrow as Oikawa closes the door behind them. “It’s not like the great Oikawa-san to beg anyone for help.”

Oikawa pauses, nibbling his lip in a momentary show of vulnerability. His plan has not been going smoothly at all.

Shirofuku hadn’t been far off the mark when she’d said that Oikawa is picky. Oikawa _is_ picky, and Kuroo – trustworthy, experienced, attractive Kuroo – would be perfect if not for the deep emotional scarring that has kept them apart for almost a year.

It’s the one reservation left that Oikawa has in regards to fucking his childhood friend, but as always, his selfishness wins out against the concern. Besides, Kuroo’s been around. One more person isn’t going to change anything.

When Oikawa turns back to face Kuroo, he has a close-eyed smile in place. He puts one of his hands on his hips, brings up a peace sign against his cheek.

“You have two choices, Kuroo-chan,” Oikawa says, wriggling his fingers. It’s always best to be straightforward with Kuroo, since they’re both crafty little shits who will see through each other without any effort. “Which would you like to do first? Talk about your frankly constipated emotions, or… me?”

Kuroo’s eyes narrow warily, like there’s a hidden catch he’s missing. “I have to do both?”

“The latter part is more important, honestly,” Oikawa barks out a laugh as he lowers his hand. “but I’m also in the mood to play the part of a good friend.”

“Figures.” Kuroo’s mouth morphs into a slick leer as he steps forward, closing the distance between them. “It’s not like I have anything to lose, anyway. Bragging rights?”

“Whatever, as long as it’s nothing bad,” Oikawa hums in agreement, watching Kuroo’s eyes spark and hood over in an expression that makes Oikawa’s pulse spike. It’s like Kuroo is looking at him in a totally different way than before, as they cross the line between friends and more.

“I’m going to ruin you.” Kuroo’s voice dips into something like a hiss, and Oikawa has barely enough time to register the shiver running down his spine before Kuroo’s lips are crashing against his.

Oikawa has kissed people before, of course, but none of them have ever felt like _this_.

Kuroo’s lips are a little chapped, but his tongue is soft and velvety as it presses its way into Oikawa’s mouth. Their bodies are pressed flush against each other, chest to chest, and they only get closer when Kuroo’s arm snakes around Oikawa’s waist and tightens against his spine.

“Oh-” Oikawa gasps, breaking from the kiss as Kuroo grinds up against him. He’s already hard in his pants, in the eager way only a hormonal teenager can be. “Let’s go to the- to the bedroom.”

Oikawa leads the way, watching out of the corner of his eye as Kuroo shrugs off his jacket and lifts his shirt over his head. They’re both fifteen, but their bodies are already so different.

Oikawa spends his time volunteering his help on the different school committees, idling about the mall with Sugawara and networking his way to the top. His body reflects that, soft in the stomach with not much muscle elsewhere. Kuroo, on the other hand, has been playing hockey all his life. The hard plane of his torso is not well-defined, not yet, but it’s getting there. The muscles in his arms are not huge by any means, either, but Oikawa knows well enough how strong they are.

Kuroo takes charge, as he’s so inclined to, and pushes Oikawa down onto the bed the moment the door to Oikawa’s bedroom slams shut.

All the curtains are drawn, casting the room in a light blue tint. The shadows are strong, as Oikawa intended them to be, and Kuroo doesn’t seem to mind either as he pushes Oikawa’s shirt up over his collarbones to suck a hickey into his chest.

The feeling of Kuroo’s lips, his teeth, marking Oikawa up makes him grow even harder in his pants; till he’s almost bucking up into the air for the friction that he so desperately craves. Oikawa gives in at this point, reluctantly pushing Kuroo off him to reach for the lube and condoms in his bedside drawer.

Kuroo doesn’t seem to find a problem with either thing, motioning for Oikawa to undress himself as he busts open the bottle of lube and squeezes a generous amount on his fingers. Oikawa is quick to oblige, for once in his life happy to be bossed around, and peels off his pants and underwear in one go.

Heat rises to Oikawa’s cheeks at the thought of this being the first time he’s ever been naked around someone else. Gym doesn’t count, obviously, because changing amongst his peers is totally different from actually doing the dirty with them – no matter that Oikawa’s caught some of them eyeing his bum a little too long to be decent.

Oikawa almost squeaks in surprise when Kuroo, in one practiced motion, folds Oikawa in half and dribbles lube over his asshole. It’s cold and a little unpleasant, and Oikawa’s worry skyrockets because he can’t see anything around his own knees forced up against his face.

Then Kuroo’s fingers smear the gooey liquid over Oikawa’s ass, and he feels himself puckering against the unfamiliar touch.

“You know, you actually look kinda cute like this,” Kuroo muses, sounding arrogant and entertained all at once.

Oikawa snorts in reply. “I’m always cute-!”

Kuroo thrusts a finger into Oikawa, cutting him off with the sudden, uncomfortable feeling of something foreign entering his body. Oikawa frowns, silent as he thinks over this new, novel sensation of Kuroo’s knobbly, calloused finger up his butt.

It's… weird.

Oikawa also feels very full, even though Kuroo’s only put in one finger, and his research tells him that this is a bad sign. He needs to relax, before Kuroo finds out that he’s a virgin, so he closes his eyes and breathes in and out very slowly; making sure to fill his lungs before pushing out all the air in them.

It seems to work, because a second finger joins the first. Oikawa grunts, eyes fluttering open, and Kuroo frowns.

“You’re really tight, Oikawa,” Kuroo says, but Oikawa hardly hears it over the awkward, stomach-turning feeling of his fingers slowly scissoring inside him. _How does anyone like this?_

“It’s- It’s been awhile,” Oikawa finally replies, through gritted teeth. This is bad. He’s too tense, too worried about the possibility of Kuroo finding out about his inexperience.

And then Kuroo’s fingers curl, short nails digging into something in Oikawa that sparks pleasure from previously unused nerves and coerces a shocked moan out of his mouth. It’s an odd feeling, half like he needs to pee and half like a promise of more.

“Nice,” Kuroo grins, prodding the spot a few more times just to see Oikawa’s reaction. It feels good enough that Oikawa has to muffle his sounds with his own hands, and he glares at Kuroo when he pulls his fingers out with a low chuckle.

Then Kuroo unzips his pants, palms himself through his boxers, and pulls out his dick.

Oikawa’s entire mind goes blank, because while Kuroo is still developing, his junk is still wider and longer than just two fingers and Oikawa is suddenly really not sure about this. He swallows nervously as Kuroo lines himself up, the head of his cock pressing up against Oikawa’s entrance.

“Kuroo, wait-” Oikawa is cut off, for the second time that day, as Kuroo pushes into him without preamble. It burns, his walls stretching and spasming painfully around Kuroo as his body tries it's best to accommodate him. Oikawa groans, but it’s not a sound of pleasure. “Ow, fuck.”

Kuroo has gone still, only halfway into Oikawa, as his wide eyes take in Oikawa’s reaction. His eyebrows knit together in confusion, hands coming away from Oikawa’s hips. “Oikawa? Are you okay? I’m sorry if it hurts, this usually- it doesn’t, usually.” He finishes lamely, looking very lost.

“I’m fine. Just give me a minute.” Oikawa replies, breath escaping in a hiss. He never expected it to hurt like this. Maybe he should’ve told Kuroo to stretch him more.

“Okay, okay,” Kuroo nibbles on his lip, settling back on his heels between Oikawa’s legs. He softens a little inside Oikawa, which makes the pain dull. “I just- I’m sorry if I hurt you. This doesn’t usually happen, so I’m not sure why-”

Oikawa hears the sharp intake of breath, feels the speculation turn into suspicion, and watches Kuroo’s eyes sharpen under the shade of his unruly fringe. Kuroo has always been too intelligent for his own good.

“You-” Kuroo starts, swallows, opens his mouth again. “Oikawa, you’re a virgin?”

Oikawa gestures towards Kuroo’s dick, bringing attention to the way it’s lodged inside of him. “Not anymore.”

“Fuck! Why didn’t you tell me?” Kuroo’s face twists, hands curling into the hair close to his scalp. “I would’ve been more gentle.”

“No, you wouldn’t have done this in the first place.” Oikawa sighs, running a knuckle over the wrinkles in between his eyebrows.

“Damn right!” Kuroo snaps, making to pull out of Oikawa. He doesn’t get far.

“Shut up.” Oikawa sits up, ignoring the way Kuroo’s length presses even deeper inside him like this. The pain has faded into a dull ache. He can do this. “Don’t do things halfway again, Tetsurou. Or is that just something of a bad habit for you?”

“Fuck you.” Kuroo growls, a flash of hurt shimmering in his eyes. “Fuck you, Oikawa.”

Oikawa knows it’s a low blow, bringing the past up like this, but Kuroo has always been somewhat of a coward. Or at least he used to be, till he left Kenma in the dust and found him hanging from the ceiling their last year of middle school.

“That’s the whole point, isn’t it?” Oikawa just says, blandly, and watches Kuroo struggle with his emotions. “Or are we going to talk about your feelings now?”

Kuroo’s eyes snap back to Oikawa’s face, brown irises so very hollow.

“Where do you want to start?” Oikawa’s tone is intentionally combative, bordering mocking. He cards a hand through his hair, feels the styled ends bouncing back into place on his head. “How you were convinced you were so much better than Kenma? How you abandoned him like he hadn’t been glued to your side for more than a decade? How you basically told him to go and die?”

Kuroo doesn’t say anything. His chest heaves, shudderingly, and for a moment Oikawa almost believes that Kuroo might cry.

“What about how your fuck around with anyone who’s willing, just to feel something, anything again?” Oikawa continues, and then his voice softens. “Or how about the fact I know that Kenma would hate to see you in this state?”

“Then he shouldn’t have left.” Kuroo’s lip curls, and his hands clench in the messy sheets. “He shouldn’t have just- fucked off the face of the planet like that.”

Oikawa watches Kuroo’s expression closely. Oikawa may have crossed many lines, but he’s yet to go _too_ far.

To be honest, Oikawa should have done this much earlier. He shouldn’t be doing this while Kuroo is still impaling him, and he knows he’s a horrible friend and an even more terrible person.

But Kuroo is not an angel either, and this is the most he’s talked about Kenma since his suicide.

“You won’t regret this?” Kuroo asks, and now his voice is tinged with anger. Then he laughs, a little bitterly. “What am I saying, of course you won’t. You’re always the one using people, aren’t you? It’s never the other way around.”

Oikawa wants to say something sarcastic, or taunting or even scornful, but Kuroo pushes him down on his back and knocks the air out of his lungs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: Oikawa's original line (towards Kuroo) was meant to be "Stop leaving people hanging" instead of "Don't do things halfway again" but i thought.... too soon. I'm sorry. I'm going to hell hahahahahahaha


	3. So fetch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone!! Have you ever felt like your head is made of a swamp? Because that was me the past week TT.TT Although I'm feeling much more productive now while I try to procrastinate job hunting lmfao
> 
> Anyways, as always **please be wary of the warnings and tags.** Many problematic things and thoughts happen in this story.
> 
> Also, good news for my Irezumi readers as well because I've finally decided what direction I'm going to take it, and I should be updating it soon. Probably after I've finished all the drafts for Queen Bee.
> 
> Thank you for your support!! Stay home, stay safe and I'll see you again within the week :D Enjoy <3

They don’t talk about it.

Oikawa doesn’t bring up Kenma ever again, and Kuroo is only too happy to avoid the topic in favour of chasing physical satisfaction. It’s not like it actually matters to Oikawa, anyway. Kuroo has been handling himself well enough this past year, so Oikawa doesn’t need to bother with fixing something that is, slowly but surely, mending itself.

The new benefits tacked onto their tumultuous friendship find Oikawa and Kuroo in the bushes late on a Saturday night. Their skin is flushed against the frigid air, winter snow falling lightly around them as Kuroo bends Oikawa over against a brick wall.

Oikawa can feel the bass reverberating from within, loud music flooding out from behind frosted glass panels as Kuroo slips a hand into his underwear and presses two fingers into him. They scissor inside Oikawa, knuckle-deep, as Kuroo’s free hand pumps roughly at his dick.

“Ah- Tetsu!” Oikawa cries out, a shudder of pleasure wracking through his body as he spurts white on the wall. Even this loud, Oikawa doubts that anyone can hear him. They’re all either drunk out of their minds or temporarily deafened by the speakers.

Oikawa turns and falls to his knees as Kuroo fumbles with his zipper. The hockey player eagerly reaches into his pants and pulls out his dick. It’s hard and red, veins throbbing in want, and exposed to the winter chill for only a moment before Oikawa takes it into his mouth.

Kuroo’s mouth falls open in a moan. His eyes close, head tilting back in pleasure, as his fingers curl in Oikawa’s hair and _tug_.

Oikawa hums a sound of dissent. He frowns, continuing to swirl his tongue around Kuroo’s length as he reaches up to pull the long fingers off his head. Oikawa isn’t going to let Kuroo ruin his hair – and the two hours he spent getting ready for this party – just because he has a hair-pulling kink.

Kuroo doesn’t last long. He twitches against the back of Oikawa’s throat, digs his fingers into Oikawa’s fur hood, and then he’s gone.

A soft, strangled cry pries itself out of Kuroo’s chapped lips as he fills Oikawa’s mouth with cum. It’s warm and sticky, and Oikawa quickly pulls off to spit it out on the sleet-slippery ground.

“Yuck,” Oikawa grimaces, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. He sticks out his tongue. “Bleh.”

“You’ll get used to it,” Kuroo just shrugs, leer back in place below a blush that connects across his nose bridge. The hockey player tucks himself in his pants in a little shiver-dance, breath escaping his lips in a white cloud as he offers Oikawa a hand up.

It really is freezing, and Oikawa only realises how soaked through the knees of his jeans are when he straightens and feels the chill against his shins. Oikawa focuses a pitiful look at Kuroo, who snorts and tucks Oikawa under his arm. It makes the walk to the front door a little more bearable, at least, till they ring the doorbell and are greeted by an inebriated Fujiwara Sho.

The senior’s eyes rake over the both of them, a spark of amusement in dark irises that match equally dark, coiffed hair. Oikawa almost feels naked, under such an appraising gaze, and he decides that he doesn’t like it one bit.

The tension is quickly broken by a broad-shouldered body crashing into the doorframe. It’s paired with gravity-defying salt and pepper hair and a loud shout of, “Hey, hey, hey!”

Bokuto Koutarou is grinning, bright-eyed and red-cheeked, as he jumps up and down excitedly in the doorway. Fujiwara rolls his eyes and steps back, away from the enthusiastic freshman, while Kuroo is quick to reply in what is possibly the bro version of a mating call.

“Oikawa! You’re here!” Sugawara calls, from a little deeper in the house, and Oikawa takes the opportunity to excuse himself from the vicinity of a senior who undresses him with his eyes and a pair of boys who become the epitome of single shared brain cell once together.

Sugawara is perched on Sawamura Daichi’s lap, a dainty sprite of a thing atop thick honey-tan thighs. Oikawa drags his eyes away from Sawamura’s legs, to the gloating self-satisfaction plastered all over Sugawara’s face, and then to the person sitting beside them on a ratty couch that has seen too many years and too many children.

Iwaizumi is scowling, as per usual, although now his eyes are glued to Oikawa’s jeans instead of his face. The football player is such a stick in the mud that Oikawa always manages to trigger him some way or other. It’s fun to see Iwaizumi’s ire, in that sense. Oikawa likes extracting different facial expressions from him, likes to see how his reaction changes with every little poke and prod.

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa purrs in greeting.

“Oikawa.” Iwaizumi’s head immediately snaps up, flushing a little because he’s gotten caught staring at Oikawa’s legs. Oikawa knows that Iwaizumi wasn’t really staring at his legs, though, just the wet spots that are obviously indicative of suspicious kneeling out in the snow.

“Don’t be so cold!” Oikawa grins, plopping down beside Iwaizumi so hard that his drink sloshes onto his pants. Iwaizumi’s face twists in annoyance, which morphs into surprise when Oikawa steals his cup right out of his hand. “Thanks, Iwa-chan! You’re the best.”

Oikawa knocks it back in one go, while still maintaining eye contact with Iwaizumi over the rim of the plastic cup. The drink is some weird jungle juice mix; oddly sweet and chased by the bitter tang of alcohol. It’s quite strong, and Oikawa is instantly hit with a heady warmth.

Ah, yes. Oikawa is already enjoying his night.

Iwaizumi, on the other hand, looks like he may blow a fuse.

  
That’s another interesting bit about Iwaizumi. He always looks like he may be about to explode, but he never does. Oikawa wonders what it’ll take to get him to that point. He wonders if it’ll ever happen.

He wonders if _he’ll_ ever make it happen.

“Oikawa!” Someone calls, above the pounding music, and Oikawa looks away from Iwaizumi to see Bokuto squeezing past the crowd with a pair of cups in his hand.

Oikawa tilts his head to the side in contemplation. Bokuto has never really approached him, before. Not unless Kuroo is by his side, at least, and right now Kuroo is nowhere to be seen.

“Hey, hey, Oikawa,” Bokuto smiles, and this is a tentative smile. It’s not as toothy as one of his usual grins, a hint of uncertainty in his usually vibrant golden-brown eyes. “I got you a drink, it's some of that good stuff from Mori-sempai’s dad’s alcohol drawer.”

Right. This is Mori Yukio’s house. The football team captain, senior, resident creep number one. Also, oddly absent now that Oikawa thinks about it. He’s probably off in one of the bedrooms, sleeping with Shirofuku or another one of her breed.

“Thanks, Bo-kun!” Oikawa turns on the charm as he takes the offered drink. Bokuto looks starstruck by the nickname, and he quickly fixes his gaze on his own cup as he sinks down onto the couch next to Oikawa.

  
The new weight, and the heat and strength of Bokuto’s body, displaces Oikawa halfway into Iwaizumi’s lap. Both of them scowl at the same time, before Iwaizumi roughly pushes Oikawa off in favour of snatching back his empty cup and stomping away.

Oikawa watches Iwaizumi go with wide eyes, and when he turns back to Bokuto he shakes his head. “Your friend is a brute.”

“Yeah,” Bokuto says, and then he laughs awkwardly and chugs his drink.

Oikawa squints a little at the odd behaviour. Bokuto seems nervous, for some reason, which is almost unheard of. Bokuto Koutarou is _never_ nervous, not on the field and not even when they did presentations in class two weeks before.

“What’s in this?” Oikawa asks, in an attempt to change the subject, as he takes a sniff of the drink. It’s even stronger than whatever was in Iwaizumi’s, and it’s definitely something more expensive. Oikawa’s face scrunches up in response to the prickling that travels up his nose.

“It’s just some whiskey and coke,” Bokuto shrugs, staring as Oikawa takes a sip. “How is it?”

“Pretty good, actually,” Oikawa nods, smacking his lips together before taking another longer swig. It kind of makes his lips numb, actually, but that’s probably just what good liquor does.

Bokuto visibly deflates in relief, his smile coming a lot more genuine. “Awesome!!”

The conversation between them flows easily, more easily than Oikawa has had in a while. Maybe it’s because Bokuto is simple enough that there are no hidden barb wires in his speech, no subtle competition or passive aggressiveness.

Oikawa gets really tired while they’re talking, head accumulating fuzz as he sips on the drink that warms up his body from the inside out. Bokuto doesn’t notice, continuing to babble on about football practice and the student-tutor that gave him a blowjob under his desk.

“Damn, and she swallowed it all?” Oikawa giggles, head dropping to rest on Bokuto’s shoulder. He can feel Bokuto tensing under him, his shoulder blade digging into Oikawa’s cheek.

“Y-yeah, I think so,” Bokuto hums, his big bright eyes suddenly very near as he presses his face close to Oikawa’s. His eyebrows are knitted together. “Are you okay, Oikawa? You seem kinda out of it.”

“Of course!” Oikawa replies easily, although his words seem to come out a little slurred. He tries to stand, but for some reason his legs are numb, and he ends up stumbling.

Thankfully, Bokuto is quick on his feet. He catches Oikawa before he can crumple onto the floor, swearing softly under his breath as he winds a thick arm around Oikawa’s waist.

“That’s weird.” Oikawa mumbles, and he feels a pout form on his lips.

“Hey, h-hey, Oikawa,” Bokuto says, and then they’re moving. Oikawa’s feet are oddly uncooperative. They trip over nothing and then drag behind like useless lumps, so Bokuto squeezes tighter and lifts him off the floor. “Let’s go lie down, yeah?”

It sounds like the best suggestion ever, so Oikawa nods; although a little too vigorously. The world starts spinning crazily, light and movement fusing together, and Oikawa groans. “Ugh. I shouldn’t- shouldn’t have done that.”

Oikawa vaguely remembers going up the stairs, and then entering a room. Bokuto’s arms are warm and tight as he hauls Oikawa’s dead weight along– and then he’s set down on something soft. A bed? Oikawa can’t find it in him to care much. His limbs are too heavy and his mind is muddled like it’s been stuffed full of cotton.

“Bo-kun,” Oikawa mumbles, making grabby motions towards the football player.

Bokuto obliges, coming closer to sit on the edge of the mattress. His face is screwed up in an unpleasant expression, something reminiscent of guilt or worry, and everything else fades around it. “Oikawa, I’m sorry! I thought it was just a prank, I thought it’d be chili flakes or- or protein powder or something.”

“Hmm,” Oikawa replies, rolling over so he’s looking at the ceiling.

“Oikawa?” Bokuto rests a sweaty hand on the other freshman’s shoulder. He shakes Oikawa lightly, which makes Oikawa’s vision swim again. “Oikawa? Stay with me, please!”

The door creaks open, in the background, and Bokuto jumps off the bed like it’s burning. Oikawa grumbles at the movement, focusing on the ceiling lamp in the hopes that the world will stop spinning sometime soon.

“Good job, Bokuto-kun,” A slick, slimy voice praises, on Oikawa’s right. The bottom of the bed dips, and Oikawa feels something curling around his ankle.

“What did you put in that drink?” Bokuto demands, so loudly that Oikawa flinches. His voice is wavering a little, confidence shattering. “What did you- what did you make me do to him?”

“All you need to know is that you won’t be running suicides the whole of next practice,” The same voice replies, dismissively, and a familiar face leans into Oikawa’s field of vision. Fujiwara Sho licks his lips. “Isn’t that awesome?”

Oikawa blinks slowly, as Fujiwara leans down and presses their lips together. He still feels numb, disconnected, like this isn’t even his own body. Distantly, he feels the other person – the person at the bottom of the bed – unzip his jeans and tug them down to pool around his ankles.

“He’s so fucking out of it.” The third person remarks, as Fujiwara pulls back from Oikawa’s unmoving lips. It clears Oikawa’s sight well enough he can identify that it’s Mori Yukio with his fingers digging into Oikawa’s thighs and pushing his legs apart. “He’s not even resisting.”

Resisting? Oikawa wonders, as he tries to drag his legs back together again. It’s a feeble attempt, something Mori barely notices. Oikawa doesn’t really understand why he should be resisting, anyway. He feels warm, and the sheets are soft against his skin.

Besides, it’s much too hard to think. It’s better to just go with the feelings, to just go with what’s happening around him.

Oikawa feels his legs being raised, pushed over his torso so he’s folded in half. Hands – Mori’s hands – pinch and knead away at his ass cheeks. The senior whistles. “Damn.”

“Me too, Yukio,” Fujiwara grins, still staring at Oikawa. He drags a thumb down against Oikawa’s lip, watching it pop back in place before joining his friend.

At this point, Oikawa doesn’t even know what expression he’s making – his entire face is numb. But Oikawa does know that he makes a squeaking noise when two digits enter him at the same time, because the sound echoes inside his skull on a loop.

“You’re loose,” Fujiwara laughs, pressing a third finger into Oikawa. It elicits another, different noise, because now the stretch is pushing its way to the forefront of Oikawa’s mind. Fujiwara’s fingers piston in and out of Oikawa, jabbing around inside of him without much care.

“Are you s-sure this is okay?” Bokuto pipes up, from somewhere farther away, and wow, Oikawa has actually forgotten about him.

There’s the sound of heavy footsteps on the ground, and then skin hitting skin. Something else lands on the floor, even heavier than footsteps that could have been thunderclaps.

“Shut up or get the fuck out, rookie,” Mori’s rough voice is loud too, frightening and commanding like he’s used to being on top. When he speaks again, his tone has changed into something else, something softer but no less insidious. “Bokuto-kun must be waiting for his reward… and we’re kind enough to share, right, Sho?”

Fujiwara just laughs again, deprecatingly, from between Oikawa’s legs. When he removes his fingers, he leaves Oikawa gaping and feeling emptier than he’s ever felt before. It’s almost like it’s the only thing he can feel, the only thing his body is paying attention to. Oikawa doesn’t find that surprising, since the rest of his body has effectively shut down.

And then Fujiwara plunges his cock into Oikawa.

It gets sucked in, all the way, and the pain is dulled like everything else, but Oikawa still moans in discomfort. He’s so _full_. Fujiwara is much bigger than Kuroo. He’s three years older and fully developed, while Oikawa is used to less. The friction is a hissing burn against Oikawa’s inner walls, and he is sure that something in him must be tearing. 

“Fuck,” Fujiwara swears, drawing out the word as he sits, fully sheathed, in Oikawa. He leans forward a little, pressing Oikawa’s spread legs into the mattress, before starting to thrust.

Fujiwara’s movements are rabbit-quick, hips rolling faster than Oikawa has ever experienced before. It seems to come effortlessly to him, the only signs of fatigue the soft pants that puff out from between his gritted teeth.

Fujiwara is still staring at him, too, but Oikawa is quickly distracted from the senior’s oil-dark irises when Mori’s rough hand grabs his jaw and turn his face to the side. Bokuto is standing next to his captain, worrying his lip between his teeth as he unzips his pants.

“He’s too gone to be nothing more than a cock sleeve, but that’s good enough for you,” Mori says, smirking as he thumps Bokuto on the back with his free hand. The senior looks back at Oikawa and tilts his head. It makes his piercings glitter in the light, the faux-blonde atop his head shimmering like spun gold. “Hey, Oikawa, be a good bitch and open your mouth for us.”

Oikawa hears the words, but his body doesn’t cooperate even if he wanted it to. Mori rolls his eyes, squeezing the joint above Oikawa’s lower jaw till it falls open. The football captain dips down to take a taste for himself, kissing Oikawa with an aggression that sparks feeling into his heavy tongue.

When Mori finally pulls away, a string of spit follows him. Oikawa watches blearily as Mori wipes it away and pries his jaws even wider apart.

“C’mon Bokuto-kun,” Mori taunts, when Bokuto hesitates inches from Oikawa’s slack mouth. “You’re not a fuckin’ pussy, are you?”

Bokuto frowns, but he bites his tongue and pushes into Oikawa’s mouth. Almost immediately, a weak moan falls from Bokuto’s lips. Oikawa gurgles as Bokuto’s dick bumps against the back of his throat in an involuntary thrust, but Mori’s hand is at the back of Oikawa’s head now, pulling on brown strands and keeping him in place as Bokuto fucks his mouth.

Oikawa isn’t really sure what happens after.

He knows that they take turns, but the memories degrade into blurry lumps and brief flashes of colour and light. He doesn’t even know how he gets home that night, just that he wakes up in his bedroom with aching hips and a newly developed disgust for himself.

Oikawa does remember a single, clear moment, where he’s pressing weak hands against a firm chest.

But Oikawa doesn’t know if remembering that he’s batted away easily, that the kisses don’t stop and the thrusting doesn’t either– he doesn’t know if remembering only that is better than just not remembering anything at all.


	4. Boo, you whore

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!! Last chapter was pretty brutal, huh? ^^" Always keep the warnings in mind! Many things happen in this chapter :)
> 
> Now that we're approaching the end, please let me know what other things y'all wanna see from the Touchdown!Verse. I have a rough plan, but I want to know what y'all wanna read too :)
> 
> Enjoy <3

Bokuto tries to explain himself.

“They were- they were hazing me, it was my week,” Bokuto says, standing on the other side of the gates to Oikawa’s house. His knuckles are white from how hard they’re gripping the metal, and there’s a bruise mottling his cheek. “I’m sorry, Oikawa! I had to do it, or they’ll kick me off the team.”

Oikawa just smiles, a bitter parody of his usually charming grins. “You owe me, Bo-kun.”

Bokuto looks happy enough about the nickname, like it means that Oikawa has forgiven him. Oikawa _hasn’t_ forgiven him, and he probably never will, but Oikawa is also a scheming piece of shit. Bokuto is talented, if not dumb and cruel, and he will surely be a useful piece in Oikawa’s arsenal in the future.

So Oikawa is content to bid his time. For now.

Oikawa never tells anyone else about what happened that night. He doesn’t tell Kuroo, even though the hockey player gets suspicious when he refuses to hook up for a week after, and he certainly doesn’t tell Sugawara, who’s more obsessed with his new boyfriend than when he first discovered mapo tofu.

If there’s one thing Oikawa is good at, it’s compartmentalizing.

Some people might call it being two-faced, but Oikawa finds it efficient. Useful. Especially when he has to continue going to all the parties; continue to play seven minutes in heaven and spin the bottle, truth or dare and burning bridges.

It’s easy, then, to grab Yachi Hitoka by her short blonde hair and force a quick kiss on her so he can finally leave the game without being called a prude.

This moment in particular becomes something of a legend in Sendai High, for no reason that Oikawa can ascertain. There are many more very public, very risqué moments that people could have chosen from, but then again Oikawa is very aware of how twisted some stories can get while being circled around the rumour mill.

As winter melts into spring, Oikawa finds most of his time getting eaten up by preparations for the upcoming formal. He’s sitting against the wall of the gym, a big plastic board balanced across his knees and a marker in each hand, when a pair of boys approach him.

“Hey, you’re Oikawa, right?” The first one says, interrupting Oikawa as he’s scribbling another name on the seating plan.

Oikawa fiddles with his phone, scrolling through the list of names he’s drawn up, before glancing up at the speaker with a raised eyebrow. “That depends on who’s asking.”

“Cute,” the second boy snorts, leaning down with a hand pressed against the wall.

Oikawa sighs internally, capping his markers before leaning back and smiling at the pair in expectation. He takes quick stock of them – the first boy is wearing the junior varsity basketball sweatshirt, while the second has a basketball under his arm. Neither are very good looking, nor are they anyone of note.

“Let’s go out, just the three of us?” The first boy offers, replying with a smile of his own. It’s flirtatious, injected with a promise of more.

_Ew_. Oikawa’s lips twitch. _No fucking way._

“No can do, boys,” Oikawa shakes his head, allowing the sides of his mouth to droop just that little bit in apology. He gestures to the list, and then the seating plan. “Not unless you want formal to tank.”

“Come on, don’t be such a goody-two shoes!” The second boy taunts, and his arm falls onto Oikawa’s shoulder. He stiffens immediately, fake smile almost falling entirely off his face at the unwarranted, _unwanted_ , contact.

Oikawa doesn’t like snapping at people, or making enemies where he clearly doesn’t need any, but this is getting into dangerous territory. They obviously don’t seem like people who’d take no as an answer, and Oikawa is alone in the gym at this late hour.

Oikawa’s hands tighten around his markers, heart beating loudly in his ears, as the hand on his arm only tightens with each passing second.

The sun is setting, casting an orange glow over linoleum and polished wood, but Oikawa only sees the flicker of a ceiling lamp. He only feels the weight of bodies bearing down upon him, the flutter of wandering hands where they shouldn’t be.

He stared at that goddamn lamp the whole night.

At least, that’s as much as he remembers.

Oikawa is so caught up in his thoughts, so caught up in the stunted images that flash through his mind like underdeveloped polaroids, that he doesn’t notice the flurry of movement happening right in front of him. He feels the thumping of bodies on the floor, hears a faraway voice that sounds like a growl, and absently notes scampering footsteps that fade away into the distance.

He feels a hand, a new one, shaking him gently by the shoulder, and this time when Oikawa blinks he comes face-to-face with tanned skin, a stern line of a mouth, and warm brown eyes.

It seems Oikawa isn’t as alone as he assumed.

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says, the word a weak puff of air against his lips. He drops the markers in his lap and cracks his stiff fingers, clearing his throat above the noise of his joints clicking back in place. “Nice of you to pop by, hero.”

“Cut the bullshit, Oikawa,” Iwaizumi Hajime rolls his eyes, falling into a cross-legged sit across from Oikawa. There’s sweat on his brow, and he’s in some white and turquoise striped Adidas. He’d probably been running after practice. “Did they do anything to you? Are you okay?”

“Nah, they didn’t,” Oikawa scrolls through his mental store of smiles, and chooses a soft, reassuring one. He might like attention, but he doesn’t like concern. Concern makes Oikawa feel helpless, defenceless. It makes him feel weak.

Memories of that night threaten to resurface again, and Oikawa almost grimaces outwardly to drive them away. The brunette scoffs, hugging his knees against his chest and poking at his toes through the white canvas of his shoes. “It’s not like I told them to stop, anyway.”

“That doesn’t matter.” Iwaizumi declares, now stretching his legs in what Oikawa assumes is part of his post-exercise warm down. He says it so confidently that it makes Oikawa look back up at him. “You obviously didn’t want them to touch you. Doesn’t matter what you said or what you didn’t say.”

Oikawa lifts a brow, the smile spreading on his face now more genuine than any other that day. “You know, Iwa-chan, you’re much less of a brute than I thought.”

“Shut up,” Iwaizumi snaps, eyes drifting over to the waste paper bin that Oikawa brought with him for his scraps. “Trashykawa.”

“Excuse me?!” Oikawa splutters, although he’s more amused now than irritated. He’s so used to people lathering praise on him to his face and calling him things behind his back that even this dumb nickname is refreshing.

“Alright, I know what you want,” Oikawa pouts, batting his eyelashes at a disgruntled Iwaizumi. “Thank you, my knight in shining armour. This princess will be forever in your debt! Is that good enough?”

It’s Iwaizumi’s turn to splutter, his face turning a dark red, and Oikawa finds himself laughing.

This isn’t so bad. Iwaizumi doesn’t seem half as terrible as the other football players.

Sawamura is a sap, and that’s all Oikawa is going to say about that Best Friend Thief, but Bokuto is in another level of horrible altogether. He’s been acting more and more like a spoiled child with too-big britches – in more ways than one – and yet there’s nothing he can’t get away with, not with Mori and Fujiwara commanding the school from their spots as the football team’s irreplaceable captain and vice-captain.

Oikawa needs to find a way to control Bokuto, and it’s not just because he has a neurotic need to control everyone around him. It’s also because Bokuto is very quickly becoming a monster, one that will evolve into something even Oikawa can’t predict by the time they become seniors.

If Oikawa wants to do something about Bokuto’s behaviour, then he has to do it now.

But that’s also more easily said than done. It’s not like Oikawa hasn’t been thinking up solution after solution for his Bokuto Problem. He has been, and it’s hard.

Oikawa once thought to rely on Kuroo, but Kuroo is soft when it comes to Bokuto. The football player is like Kuroo’s precocious child or even a favoured pet, from the way Kuroo babies him, so that possibility is out.

Oikawa even thought to enlist the help of the second best schemer (after himself, of course) he knows, but Oikawa is also someone who will refuse to beg for anything – much less help from Sugawara Koushi.

Now however, with Iwaizumi in front of him practically offering up his services as Oikawa’s knight in shining armour? The little cogs of Oikawa’s plan fall easily into place.

“Iwa-chan, would you like to come to formal with me?” Oikawa asks, and Iwaizumi perks up in curiosity. Freshmen are not usually included in formals, after all, so he should be intrigued. Oikawa is happy to elaborate. “Perks of being on the events committee! Suga-chan and I have a whole table to ourselves, and we have a few chairs still empty.”

“Sawamura going?” Iwaizumi says, now folding over his legs with a grunt. He’s more flexible than Oikawa expected.

“Of course,” Oikawa says, almost bitterly, as he crosses his legs and runs a finger over the all the names scribbled onto poorly drawn tables, and then the sample fabric taped onto the upper corner of the board. “I asked Kuroo-chan too, so Bokuto and the Miya twins will be on our table. It’ll be a nice group thing.”

“There are ten seats per table, though. We only have eight.” Iwaizumi wonders aloud, leaning in close to look at the plan that Oikawa has drawn up. It’s hastily done, but still perfect because Oikawa Tooru isn’t known to do things slipshod. He’d even drawn the tables with a protractor.

“Yeah, Kuroo-chan and Bo-kun are bringing dates,” Oikawa explains, eyes flickering to Iwaizumi’s face and back. The football player is so close, Oikawa can count his eyelashes.

“You know, I always assumed you were with either one of them,” Iwaizumi mentions, as he leans back on his heels again. He lifts his arm over his shoulder and pushes down on his elbow with his other hand.

Oikawa tries not to blanch at the thought. Kuroo is the devil’s spawn and also the most infuriating person Oikawa knows, when he wants to be. Besides, they’ve been friends for an eternity. They may hook up from time to time, but that’s all Oikawa could ever see with Kuroo. Bokuto, of course, is a weak-willed pig that Oikawa is determined to make into nothing more than a pawn of his. No lost love there.

Swallowing down the acidity, Oikawa spreads his arms out with a grin. “And I assumed you hated me, but here we are.”

“You’re annoying and kind of a brat, but I never hated you.” Iwaizumi snorts as he gets to his feet. He dusts off his pants, ignoring Oikawa’s irritated huff to jog towards the exit of the gym. Before passing the threshold, Iwaizumi spares a glance back. “Tell me if you need any help with the set-up. I’ll be there.”

Oikawa just grins back, a spark of something like excitement in his chest, before he unlocks his phone and continues with his work.

It’s only the next day, between fifth and sixth period, that Oikawa corners Sawamura Daichi at a water fountain. He counts his lucky stars. Sawamura is very rarely by himself and Oikawa’s whole plan hinges on being able to get the football player alone.

“Sawamura,” Oikawa greets. No frills, no cheesy nickname. He leans up against the wall and stares down at Sawamura, who slowly straightens with a cocked brow.

“Oikawa,” Sawamura nods, smiling tentatively. He wipes his wet mouth on his sleeve before motioning for Oikawa to walk with him. “What’s up? I’m not sure where Suga is, if you’re looking for him.”

“Actually, I wanted to talk to you about Suga,” Oikawa says, as he falls into step beside Sawamura. He makes sure to school his face into his best imitation of naked worry. It’s a total joke. Sugawara is more than capable of taking care of himself, but that’s not what Sawamura thinks. That’s not what Sawamura wants to think. “The formal is coming up, and I’m- I’m scared for him, really. It’s good that he has you around, but I’m not sure if even you could… go up against Bo-kun?”

Sawamura stops in his tracks. He looks a little perturbed as he steers Oikawa towards the shoulder of the corridor, and his voice is hushed when he talks again. “Bokuto? What do you mean? Did he say something about Suga?”

Hook, line and sinker.

“No, no, I mean, I just– I heard some _rumours_. You know how it is.” Oikawa demurs, matching Sawamura’s tone with his own, slightly teasing one. “Bo-kun’s kind of a loose cannon, isn’t he?”

“I… see,” Sawamura says, growing understanding darkening his gaze.

“Of course, you can’t tell Suga-chan that I told you this! It would scare him, and I don’t want him to feel unsafe, you know?” Oikawa bats his eyelashes and averts his gaze. _This is too easy_.

“Of course, Oikawa,” Sawamura nods, clapping Oikawa on the back in thanks before he stomps away. Oikawa watches him go, crossing his arms over his chest as a self-satisfied grin lights up his features.

Once Sawamura turns the corner, Oikawa pushes himself off the wall and walks away in the opposite direction. They’re all pawns, really. It takes just that little bit of effort, of understanding, to get them to play right into his hands so perfectly, so Oikawa is expecting it when Sugawara storms up to him right after the last school bell rings.

“He’s so overbearing,” Sugawara complains as he storms up to Oikawa, who’s lounging on the front lawn googling ‘party shops near me’ for the best-priced helium and balloon combos. “It’s unreasonable. It’s ridiculous!”

“Who is?” Oikawa asks, perking up in faux interest even though he knows very well what Sugawara is talking about.

“Daichi!” Sugawara cries exasperatedly, his voice gentle even through the frustration. He plops down next to Oikawa and rests his head on the taller brunette’s shoulder. “He doesn’t want us to go to formal anymore! He mentioned something about Bokuto being interested in me, which is so dumb. I can’t miss it just because he’s being oversensitive about some rumours.”

“That’s why you gotta keep him on a leash, Suga-chan,” Oikawa shakes his head, tutting as he wags his finger in disapproval. As he switches off his phone and turns to Sugawara, a mischievous smile tugs at his lips. “Isn’t it time to take things into your own hands? I mean, you’ve acted the part of the sweet angel so far but you and I both know you’re capable of so much more.”

“You think so?” Sugawara asks, but Oikawa can tell he’s sold on the idea. He’s already grinning impishly back at Oikawa, eyes flashing with excitement.

“Yeah,” Oikawa nods, shifting so that he’s facing Sugawara instead of bumping shoulders with him. He hums, pretending to think for a moment before sticking up a finger to rest against his chin. “The way I see it, your Dai-chan shouldn’t have a problem if we find Bokuto a date, right?”

“That’s genius!” Sugawara almost squeals with excitement, since he enjoys meddling only a little less than he enjoys Sawamura, and Oikawa laughs mostly because this is all too easy.

Oikawa isn’t laughing, a fortnight later, when Bokuto Koutarou and Shirofuku Yukie become an official couple.

Oikawa has to admit, they are perfect together. Shirofuku is attractive, popular, and more than willing to give in to Bokuto’s insatiable libido. The cheerleader is also interested enough in Bokuto that she overlooks the rest of Bokuto’s _stunning_ personality, while Bokuto himself actually gives the time of day to her.

So Oikawa handles it. He handles his own hatred and annoyance for Shirofuku, and he handles Shirofuku’s less than stellar ability to keep her mouth shut and her skirt on her hips.

Because Oikawa Tooru is _not_ afraid of Bokuto Koutarou.

Oikawa isn’t doing this because he’s scared. That’s preposterous. He’s just doing this because Bokuto is out of control, and Oikawa needs to rein him in.

If the only thing that can do that is Shirofuku Yukie, than it will have to do.

And if Sugawara comes up to him with a smile a few degrees North of a smirk, whispering “You know, you shouldn’t go around spreading rumours.”

Well, Oikawa knows when to admit that he’s lost.


	5. Get in loser

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe it's already the end of July!! Time is really flying by D: With that said, we are already at our last chapter TT.TT
> 
> Enjoy <3

The Shirofuku plan does not work out.

In fact, it comes to a horrible, no good, very bad end and both Shirofuku and Bokuto are single by the time sophomore year rolls around.

Formal was bad enough. Oikawa had to watch them make out at their table, and then escape to some dark corner to do whatever else. The aftermath of the break up is even worse, because it becomes somewhat of an icy battlefield between the football team and the cheerleading squad.

Fortunately, that all thaws nicely over the summer. Unfortunately, the direct consequence of all of this is that Bokuto goes back to being out of control.

The first day back after summer break, Oikawa is cruising through the corridor when he spots a familiar head of tussled black curls. Freshmen mean fresh meat, but Oikawa never really thought he’d see this person ever again.

Nevertheless, they were once good friends and Oikawa is nothing but polite.

Matsukawa Issei’s eyes widen just a fraction when he spots Oikawa, and then Sugawara following behind him. He and his friend have another freshman trapped between them, bug-eyed and freckle-faced with an unfortunate cowlick that could only be cute on someone with a face like Sugawara’s.

Matsukawa has always been a schoolyard bully. It seems things haven’t changed much.

“Matsukawa… Issei? Mattsun?” Sugawara gasps, incredulously. He takes another step forward, like US10’s are enough to close the gap that has grown exponentially wider between them.

Matsukawa straightens, mouth flattening. Oikawa takes the time to scrutinize him – from the piercings lining the shell of his ear, to the smudged eyeliner, ripped jeans and scuffed boots. Matsukawa’s friend is looking up at Oikawa now, too, all sharp eyes and sharp cheekbones under soft hay-brown locks. Freckles stands stock still between them, shoulders hunched in and unmoving even though both his tormentors are distracted.

“Give us some privacy, would you?” Oikawa says, jerking his head to the side, and Freckles books it out of there without needing to be told twice.

“Oikawa, Suga,” Matsukawa nods at each of them, almost hesitantly. Oikawa notices how Matsukawa’s hands have clenched into fists, how his friend is staring at him like he has a screw loose. Oikawa notices all of this and grins, fierce and predatory.

“Get that shit off your face, Mattsun,” Oikawa sighs. He says this casually, like he’s not actually issuing an order. He approaches till he’s inches from Matsukawa’s tight jaw. “Everyone has an emo phase, but you were prettier when you were preppy.”

Matsukawa’s friend slides in between them and shoves Oikawa back. “You can’t just talk to him like that-”

“Hiro, stop,” Matsukawa intervenes immediately, sticking out his hand and pushing his friend back behind him. Oikawa watches them, a little bubble of anger stirring in his gut as he dusts off his shirt. “It’s okay, they’re friends. I knew them from middle school, before I transferred. Oikawa Tooru and Sugawara Koushi.”

“Oh.” Matsukawa’s friend says, although he still looks doubtful. His gaze darts from Oikawa, to Sugawara and then back again. “I’m Hanamaki Takahiro. Sorry about that.”

“That’s okay,” Oikawa replies, sticking a sweet smile back on his face. He ignores Matsukawa’s grimace to lean forward and take Hanamaki’s hair between his fingers. “Do you like your hair much? Makki?”

Hanamaki’s head tilts backwards in an attempt to create some space between them, but he bumps against a locker. He frowns, uncertain eyes trailing away to Matsukawa. “Yeah? I guess-”

“Well, that’s just too bad, because it looks so boring,” Oikawa simpers, making a show of rolling the fine strands between his fingertips. “Don’t you think so too, Suga-chan?”

“A little too long, as well,” Sugawara chimes in, as though they’re actually offering friendly advice. Hanamaki’s eyes narrow even further, and there’s a spark of something in them that Oikawa really wants to stamp out.

Oikawa holds Hanamaki’s gaze for a moment more, lips tilting upwards mockingly. When he finally pulls away, he tugs roughly on the lock of hair in his hands before letting go. “Fix it. Then come find me.”

Matsukawa acknowledges the dismissal as it's meant to be, quickly ushering an indignant Hanamaki down the hallway. Oikawa turns back around, leaning back against the row of lockers. “Think I overdid it?”

Sugawara shakes his head. There’s mirth dancing in his eyes, like he’s just seen something entertaining, and Oikawa wonders how anyone could think this devil an angel. “They’ll be back.”

Sugawara is right, of course, as he most often is.

Three days later, Hanamaki and Matsukawa approach them as they’re lounging on the bleachers. Sugawara spots them first, and he nudges idly at Oikawa’s ankle to get his attention.

Oikawa props himself up on his elbows, squints against the sun and appraises them – Matsukawa, with a clean face, no piercings in sight, and actual colour in his wardrobe; and Hanamaki, whose hair has been chopped off and dyed the same colour as the bubble gum ballooning from between his lips.

Oikawa grins, folding his legs against his chest and draping his arms over his knees. “Much better.”

After that, the weeks pass by in a flurry of activity. There’s much to do in between Oikawa’s own plans and keeping Matsukawa and Hanamaki firmly under his thumb. He tosses freshman after freshman Bokuto’s way– all of them desperate for popularity or reeled in by the football player’s good looks.

None of them last long.

Bokuto and Kuroo escape JV hell one after the other, both becoming permanent members of their respective varsity teams. Oikawa focuses, for a time, on his and Iwaizumi’s blooming relationship, while he and Sugawara quickly rise to the top of the social pyramid. With the addition of Matsukawa and Hanamaki’s playground ruthlessness, Oikawa and Sugawara become feared on top of well-liked.

Oikawa couldn’t have hoped for better.

And then a new student transfers into Sendai High the week after Oikawa gets hammered at a senior’s Halloween party.

Oikawa doesn’t pay much attention to it at first. The new arrival is just one more addition to an already vibrant school population, just one more person in the grand scheme of Oikawa’s high school career. Oikawa doesn’t bother himself about it, about whoever this new person is, because there are just so many more important things to care about.

No, Oikawa only really starts paying attention when Bokuto, without any prompt or prelude, brings it up at lunch.

“Hey, hey, hey!” Bokuto hoots as he bustles up to them, slamming his tray onto the table with gusto. Kuroo reaches out from the neighbouring seat in a fist bump that is quickly returned. “Did you guys meet the transfer yet?”

“Transfer student? At this time of the year?” Iwaizumi asks distractedly, his thick arm draped over Oikawa’s shoulders. He doesn’t look up from where he’s playing idly with a fraying line of thread from Oikawa’s sweater, pinching and rolling it between his calloused fingertips like it's the most interesting thing in the world.

Oikawa meets Kuroo’s simmering gaze from across the table. His mouth twitches upwards, in the beginnings of a smirk, before he breaks eye contact with the hockey player and sinks deeper into Iwaizumi’s side.

“Apparently, he’s related to the new lawyers who moved into town,” Sugawara discloses, in a hushed voice, as he leans in towards the centre of the table. “My mom heard it at the booster brunch on Saturday.”

“Is he a freshman? Might be in one of our AP classes too, if he’s a sophomore.” Sawamura adds, fiddling with Sugawara’s fingers where they’re interlaced with his own. Oikawa can’t remember the last time he’s seen them in the same room and not touching each other in some capacity.

“So he’s smart _and_ pretty,” Bokuto sighs, almost wistfully, before taking a large bite out of his hotdog. A dash of ketchup gets smeared on his upper lip, which Kuroo takes delight in pointing out.

“Bo-kun, calling some new guy pretty? I need to see this,” Oikawa cocks his brow in interest. Bokuto has never shown so much outward interest in a single person since Oikawa has met him. This could be game changing. Oikawa might finally be able to find someone that Bokuto won’t tire of. “Instagram, Twitter, Facebook, whatever. Hand it over.”

“I wish I could! But I don’t even know the guy’s name,” Bokuto admits, slumping over in defeat. Kuroo pats him on the back in consolation, amused smirk still in place. “He pulled me out of the bushes just now, and the sun was behind him at first so I couldn’t see his face, but then– _wow_. He was like an angel! I wanted to say one of those pickup lines, you know, the ones like ‘did it hurt when you fell from heaven’? But I couldn’t. My mouth was like, glued shut or something.”

Game. Changing.

“Honestly, it’s better that you didn’t, Bo,” Kuroo is snickering now. No one asks why Bokuto had been in the bushes in the first place. “You might have scared him off forever.”

“Who is it this time?” Matsukawa snorts, arriving just in time to catch the last of Kuroo’s sentence. There’s a slight pause as he and Hanamaki take the seats between Oikawa and Sugawara, their chairs scraping noisily against the floor.

“No, he’s just hung up over some new kid,” Iwaizumi explains, gently bumping a deflated Bokuto’s shoulder with his fist. “No one seems to know what his name is, though. Or what year he’s in.”

“Oh, you mean the transfer student? He’s in some of my classes.” Hanamaki offers, nonchalantly. He digs around his salad bowl before he realises that everyone’s staring at him, waiting for more information.

Oikawa widens his eyes and shakes his head in the universal gesture of _continue, moron_.

“His name is Akaashi Keiji,” Hanamaki continues, hurriedly, almost throwing his fork down into his food. “He’s shorter than me, slim, black hair, green eyes. Quiet and kinda serious, but he doesn’t seem shy. He came from one of the bigger cities– he told us in his self-introduction. I didn’t talk to him, though, so I don’t know anything else.”

“Akaashi Keiji,” Bokuto repeats, now foregoing his hotdogs entirely to sink back into his seat. There’s a thoughtful look dimming his bright features.

“Oi, oi, don’t pull a muscle trying to think too hard,” Kuroo warns jokingly. He places a hand over Bokuto’s forehead like he’s checking for a fever, but Bokuto waves him off with a roll of his golden-brown eyes.

Oikawa exchanges a glance with Sugawara, who, from the looks of things, is now as curious about the new student as he is.

“U-Uh, Bokuto-san?” A new voice calls. It’s weak and shaky, but it’s unfamiliar, so Oikawa looks away from his silent conversation with Sugawara to see a lanky boy standing by their table. He’s fidgeting whilst clutching a thick stack of papers to his chest. “Bokuto-san, your- your homework.”

“What’s this, Bo-kun?” Oikawa eyes the boy, his tone teasing. He shifts his gaze over to Bokuto and tilts his chin upwards in an expression of superiority that he knows Bokuto despises. “You don’t need to be ashamed if you need help with schoolwork, you know.”

If there’s ever one thing that Bokuto Koutarou is insecure about, there’s no doubt that it would be his grades. The football player may have everything else going for him – money, status, charisma, talent – but the one thing he’s always been lacking in is academic intellect.

And while Oikawa may not be a stickler for rules, he never misses an opportunity to put Bokuto down.

“I organise a study group every Wednesday, if you’re interested,” Sugawara pipes up, sweetly, like he’s not adding fuel to the fire. Hanamaki and Matsukawa are silent, for once, aware that the tension between the sophomores is not something they understand or want to involve themselves in.

Bokuto scowls at Oikawa, his ears flushing red. Iwaizumi answers it with his own curled lip, arms flexing around Oikawa reassuringly, and oh what power this is. Oikawa can even see himself enjoying it, if only he had another noose wrapped tightly around Bokuto’s neck.

“He’s just returning the stuff I lent him,” Bokuto grumbles, snatching the stack out of the unfamiliar boy’s hands and stuffing it in his bag. When he straightens, he directs his glare at the boy. “ _Right?_ ”

“Y-yeah, of course!” The boy flinches back at the nasty look, making to scurry away from their table as fast as he can. He’s so caught up trying to get away that he doesn’t notice the wicked smirk that stretches across Kuroo’s face, or the foot the hockey player sticks out just as he passes by.

Oikawa has to stifle an otherwise loud snort when the boy predictably trips over Kuroo’s leg. He doesn’t seem to have much coordination either and fails to catch himself before he tumbles onto the floor in a mess of limbs.

While Iwaizumi doesn’t seem to care, Hanamaki and Matsukawa burst out into blaring laughter. If they didn’t have the attention of the whole cafeteria before, they definitely do now.

“Are you alright?” Sugawara asks, although he doesn’t move to get out of his chair. Beside him, Sawamura is frowning down at the boy like it had been his fault he’d fallen and caused a commotion.

“Yeah, that looked like it hurt,” Kuroo sneers, holding his hand out, palm-up, just under the table. Bokuto’s grinning again as he slaps Kuroo’s hand and bumps their fists together. His mood has flipped entirely, and Oikawa finds himself in wonder of how Bokuto is as fickle as the toss of a coin.

The boy scrambles to his feet and scuttles away, his entire face burning bright red. Oikawa doesn’t have any sympathy for him, because it was stupid of him to come up to them in the open like that. Those types are supposed to be smarter, but so far Oikawa has yet to face anyone who actually has a lick of common sense.

If Oikawa knows Bokuto at all, then he’s sure that Bokuto is going to corner that boy after lunch and beat it into him. That’s really too bad, since the boy likely did Bokuto’s homework to escape that unfortunate outcome, but it’s also not Oikawa’s problem. _He_ is not Oikawa’s problem.

Oikawa usually prides himself on very quickly and very succinctly dealing with whatever or whoever he makes his problem. Bokuto is the only exception, because dealing with him might result in mutually assured destruction.

It is this determination that makes Oikawa do what he does as he leaves the cafeteria with Hanamaki and Matsukawa in tow.

“Makki, you know that new student, Akashi right?” Oikawa hums, tilting his head as he regards the strawberry blonde. “I need you to introduce us.”

“It’s Akaashi, like double A’s,” Hanamaki replies, as if Oikawa cares about that. He’s quickly cowed by Oikawa’s glare, gaze shifting away from the brunette till he focuses on something in the near distance. “He’s right there, actually.”

Hanamaki pulls ahead of them, leaving Oikawa to watch as he strikes up a conversation with a dark-haired boy at his locker. Oikawa exchanges an anticipatory look with Matsukawa, before they approach too.

“–these are my friends, Matsukawa and Oikawa,” Hanamaki says, gesturing to them, and Akaashi turns to look at them.

Understanding floods Oikawa’s whole body like a tidal wave.

Akaashi Keiji is pretty – very, very pretty – but in a whole different way from Oikawa, or Sugawara. His features are sharp, almost cutting in unrefined brilliance. He really is shorter than Hanamaki, body thicker and curving in at the waist as compared to Hanamaki’s all around stick-like thinness.

Oikawa allows his gaze to linger over Akaashi’s stoic expression, the deep green of his eyes, the sharp point of his nose and even the even tan coating his flawless skin. He notes the way Akaashi tugs at his own fingers, considers the uncertainty glimmering just below the faux confidence.

So this is Bokuto’s type.

“Um– it’s nice to meet you,” Akaashi says, wetting his lips before he pulls them into a slight up-quirk. He looks a little confused at their sudden appearance, but he’s new and it’s obvious that he’s desperate for friends.

Oikawa smiles back, a slow one that almost touches his eyes.

This is the best idea he’s had in a while.

{End}

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your support for Queen Bee and for the Sendai Shooting series <3 
> 
> Oikawa was really fun to write because of how devious and scheming he is, even though I had to knock him down a little in the middle ^^" I hope you liked this little prequel because I definitely had fun writing it :) 
> 
> Life has been getting a little harder lately, but I'm proud to say that I've successfully graduated today :D Writing this story really helped me to destress, and I'm really appreciative of all the comments and kudos y'all have given!!
> 
> I think we've deviated from our main characters long enough so the next instalment will likely be Kuroaka ;) Make sure to stay tuned for that!!
> 
> Stay home and take care <3 I will see you all again soon!!


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